


Truth And Lies

by startraveller776



Series: Espionage and Intrigue [1]
Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, F/M, Mystery, One Shot, Short One Shot, Spies & Secret Agents, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:06:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26266951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startraveller776/pseuds/startraveller776
Summary: There’s trouble in paradise when Tom is shackled to a chair, staring down the barrel of his lover’s gun.
Relationships: Tom Hiddleston/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Espionage and Intrigue [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908367
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Truth And Lies

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** This is a repost of a fic written around 2013-ish. It was inspired by the image below. I did not create the image, nor have I been able to find the creator.

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/187237537@N07/50300399313/in/album-72157713447009958/)

He stared at her, his expression unreadable as his eyes followed her nervous pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. The pistol felt heavy in her sweat-slicked hand, and she tightened her grip, blood pounding in her ears.

His gaze slipped briefly from her face and down her body in a liquid movement that made her heart stutter. Memories washed over her in violent succession. Of his fingers grazing the buttons of her blouse. Of his breath caressing her ear as he whispered what he planned to do to her once they were home from the dinner party. Of his lips pressed into the hollow of her neck, vibrating with her murmured name. He had told her that he loved her. His words were the brush of a master artist, painting a vibrant future for them. House. Children. Holidays in Marseille. Venice.

Lies. All of them. Spun by a monster.

She scrubbed at the wetness on her cheeks with the back of a quaking hand. She would not spare a single tear for him, not after what he'd done. She wouldn't spare anything for him—his life least of all.

The jangle of metal against wood drew her attention back to him, and for a shallow breath, she feared he might have found a way to free himself of the irons. He hadn't. He had merely leaned back, stretching his long legs wide in the obscene way he liked to sit. Utterly at ease, as if he had only come over for tea and conversation, as if he were not manacled to a chair in a dingy basement, awaiting his imminent demise.

He cocked his head, tongue wetting his bottom lip. "I never knew you fancied this particular kink, darling." The corners of his mouth drew up in a ghost of a smirk. "But I'm willing to try anything at least once—though I'm not quite so enthused about the gun."

She glared at him, appalled at his cheek. Had he no remorse? No feeling at all?

"Liz," he said with a sigh. Gone was the self-satisfied grin, replaced by a concerned frown, and suddenly he was Tom Jones, the man she had fallen for. The one who had read her sonnets as they picnicked in Brighton. But he wasn't that man. It had all been a ruse.

"Liz," he repeated. "Please, can we forget all this unpleasantness and get on with our life."

Life. Singular. Together rather than separately. He had to realize she was immune to this ploy—to the tissue dreams he had once spun for her. And yet, avarice flashed in his eyes as he held her gaze, as if he had no intention of rescinding his claim on her heart, her body. The familiar look had once sent a heated thrill through her middle, but now it twisted her stomach in bilious knots.

"You killed Avery," she breathed, feeling the sting of fresh tears. "You killed my brother."

Tom was silent, slender fingers curling against the arms of his chair before nodding slowly in somber confirmation. The ground seemed to teeter off axis beneath her. Some part of her must have irrationally hoped that he would deny her accusation, that he would reveal some reasonable explanation. A twin. A doppelganger. But no, he had done it. Killed— _murdered_ —her only sibling. The only family she had left.

"I can see how you might consider that an impediment to our relationship." His tone was absurdly calm. Didn't he understand that he had just signed his own death warrant?

"You're mad!" she hissed.

"No," he returned with a humorless laugh. "That would be much simpler."

She shook her head, unable to come up with a response to equal this brand of insanity.

"I did kill him." The chair creaked as he leaned forward, his expression falling flat. "I killed a traitor."

"What?" She could not begin to fathom what story he would weave with this circuitous logic.

Tom sighed again. "I had hoped to have this conversation in a less…awkward setting." He lifted his hands, rattling the shackles on his wrists. "Candlelit dinner, perhaps. But there's no time like the present, I suppose."

Taking a deep breath, he went on, "I'm afraid I'm not an investment banker, darling. I was sent to suss out a mole—someone selling secrets to our enemies. Very big secrets. It was unfortunate that it turned out to be your brother."

" _Liar!"_ she spat, swinging the gun up to point at him. "Avery was an analyst at a marketing firm."

"Oh, Liz darling. He wasn't." He gave her a sad smile—so reminiscent of the Tom she had known that it constricted her chest. _No, no, no!_ She would not fall prey to his artifice.

"I had meant to bring him in alive," he said. "But he was, well, rather unwilling."

"I don't believe you!" She brought her other hand up to steady her aim as she wrapped a finger around the trigger. _Do it_ , she commanded herself. _Do it for Avery._

Tom glanced at the weapon, his face an unsettling mask of serenity. She wanted him to beg for his life, just as Avery must have done. She wanted him to be more frightened than she was—and she was absolutely terrified.

_Do it. Do it now._

"Put the gun down, Liz." He raised a brow. "You're not a killer."

"No, you are!" She jabbed the pistol toward him, angry tears blurring her vision.

"Only for crown and country," he replied, pinning her with his intense pale eyes. "Listen very carefully, darling. This place will be breached shortly by a lot of men carrying assault rifles. And I'll be terribly upset if you're shot merely because you happen to be brandishing a weapon you've no real intention of using."

He was lying. He had to be. And yet, was that the sound of feet shuffling on the floorboards above?

"Put. The. Gun. Down. _Now._ "

The door at the top of the basement stairs crashed open, and startled, she dropped the pistol. A mass of men in black battle gear swarmed down the stairs, weapons at the ready. There was a discordant crescendo of voices, yelling at her to lie face down on the floor. She obeyed, involuntary sobs wracking her body even as Tom shouted above the din for them to leave her be.

He'd been telling the truth. Which meant that Avery… She couldn't finish the thought. This was the brother who had stood vigil at her bedside as she recovered from the terrible accident which had taken both their parents' lives. This was the brother who started popcorn wars in the cinema, who always burned eggs on toast, who blasted cheesy eighty's music when he was alone in his flat, who thrashed every bastard who had broken her heart. How could she reconcile her memories of him with the man who had committed treason and died for it?

The room became quiet, the silence only marred by the crackle of radio static and the murmur of "all clear." There was a tinny clank of chains falling to the concrete floor, the scrape of chair legs. She raised her head, venturing a glance at Tom. He smoothed his rumpled suit, adjusted his cuffs, before looking down at her.

"Do get up, Liz," he said, holding a hand out to her. "The floor is horribly dirty."

She stared at his proffered hand—the hand which had taken her brother's life—and refused it, rising on her own with shaking legs. Chagrin flashed across Tom's features.

"Give us a moment, will you?" he said to what she assumed was the squadron leader. "I need a word with my fiancé."

The other man nodded, and heart thrumming wildly, she watched as he ushered the others from the room.

"You're an absolute mess, darling," Tom said, brushing her hair back from her face.

She flinched at the contact and backed away from him. This was all too much. The truth of her brother's betrayal and the secret life of the man who had stolen her affections. "You used me to get close to him." The realization churned her insides. "Is your name even Tom Jones?"

"Tom, yes. Jones, no." He took a step forward. "In a moment, you'll be taken to a debriefing. Tell them that you'd gone searching for me and that you found me already bound. Tell them you brought the gun because you feared I was in mortal danger. If you don't—if you tell them the truth—I'll end up having to break you out of prison, and it's really quite tedious."

She gaped at him. "You _are_ mad. I’ve just tried to kill you."

"A simple misunderstanding," he said, taking another step toward her. "Don't believe for a second that I would have let things get so far between us if I didn't have every intention of following through. I never lied to you—not about us."

He raised a hand, cupping her cheek and she resisted the instinct to lean into his touch. "Now, I'm under no illusions that you'll ever forgive me for Avery. But know this—" he stroked her cheek with this thumb, his voice nearly a whisper as he continued, "—you are, and always will be, mine. Just as I am irrevocably yours."

His gaze flicked to her lips, and for a tremulous heartbeat, she feared he might kiss her. She feared she would let him. But he retreated from her instead, giving her a small grin before turning toward the stairs.

"I don't even know your name!" she called after him.

He paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder.

"It's Hiddleston. Tom Hiddleston."

**Author's Note:**

>  **A/N:** Thank you for reading! The story continues in the sequel: "Irrevocably Yours."


End file.
